Underneath Their Fine Incisions
by varietyofwords
Summary: Alex and Jo. An exploration into what the future might hold. "Surgeons must be very careful when they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions stirs the culprit – Life!" - Emily Dickinson
1. Chapter 1

**Surgeons must be very careful when they take the knife! Underneath their fine incisions stirs the culprit – Life! - Emily Dickinson**

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><p>He pushes through the crowd assembled in the ambulance bay jamming his hands into his pockets as he reaches the front of the cluster of people. The fifth-year residents file slowly, ominously out of the bus dispatched to bring them back to Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital in a single file line, and he ignores the pointed looks tossed between the other surgical attendings as they grumble fearful words under their breath.<p>

The line of residents – the five that managed to survive the last five years – offer their superiors, their mentors unreadable expressions, and he suddenly feels sick with fear because there is no way all of them pulled a Kepner. This hospital may no longer be number one but its surgical program is still in the top ten and—

The wide grins on the faces of the surgical residents betray their life the words 'we passed!' fall from their lips in a simultaneously shout of excitement. He sighs in relief joining the other attendings and the chief in a big round of applause; he sighs in worry because he already falls for the tears and doesn't need her having this skill in her arsenal. And then he offers a wide, lopsided grin when she smiles brightly at him, when she temps forward to meet him as the rest of her class scatters towards their mentors.

He can feel Callie breathing down his neck as he reaches her, as he curls his hand around her waist and pulls her aside before the ortho posse – or, whatever it is she and Callie are calling themselves these days – can monopolize the celebration of her accomplishment. And he suddenly feels hot as she curls her hands around his left bicep, as her lips skim across his cheek; the frigid night air doing nothing to alleviate the heat creeping up his neck as his fingers brush against the small, velvet box in the pocket of his monogrammed winter coat.

"Alex! No need to go all caveman on me," she informs him as he pulls he towards the open doors of the bus, as he pulls her away from the group so he can have a moment alone with her. "It's only been t—"

She cuts herself off as he sinks down onto one knee. Her mouth snapping shut as he stands again and then moves to bend down on the other knee; her mouth falling open as an 'oh my god' or two falls from her lips as he cracks open the small, velvet box. He watches her eyes widen with surprise sending a cold shiver running down his spin – one that makes him wonder how she can stand to wear a short, sleeveless dress – only to be chased away by a creeping fever as a smile tugs on her lips.

"Josephine Wilson, love of my life, please, please, please be crazy enough to marry me and bare the possibly evil spawn of—"

"No freakin' way," Alex interrupts harshly before taking a long drink from the beer bottle in his right hand. His response causes Meredith to laugh, to look over her shoulder and offer Cristina a smirk before turning to rummaging through the cabinets in her former house once more.

"Not enough pleases in there?" Cristina questions with false chagrin. "Or, was it the bit about Wilson passing her boards?"

"Shut up," Alex snaps slamming his now empty beer bottle onto the counter. The harsh reaction causes Cristina's eyebrows to raise and her eyes to dart towards Meredith in a pointed look. "She's gonna pass."

"Well," Cristina offers in appeasement as she slides from the barstool at the counter beside Alex and joins Meredith in her search through the cabinets, "after a year of living with you two, I can attest she has no virginity to lose and then freak out over."

"Seriously, Alex," Meredith interjects into the conversation jumping in to redirect the conversation just like she does several times a day when Bailey and Zola quibble as she slams another cabinet door shut. She turns to lean against the cabinet pausing just long enough to glance into the unfortunately empty cookie jar. "How do you not have any alcohol in this house?"

"There's beer in the fridge," he informs her sliding off the stool and heading towards the fridge in order to demonstrate. Yanking open the door, he points the assorted bottled brands either still in a six pack on the shelf or jumbled as singles amongst the ketchup and other condiments.

"Doesn't Sleepy or Bashful or whatever her name was live her?" Cristina questions as she opens one of the lower cabinets. She pushes aside a box of popcorn and a few packets of ramen with a sigh. "She has to have something stronger than beer stashed around here."

"Steph moved out like two years ago," Alex corrects as he pops off the top of another beer bottle and kicks the fridge door shut with his foot. He takes a swig as he slides back onto the stool he recently vacated setting the bottle down on the counter only after he glances up to see Meredith and Cristina looking at him expectantly.

"What? Jo and I like beer. Besides, I thought the Twisted Sisters were off tequila. Mer's got her clinical trial and her kids. Cristina's got a Harper Avery."

Meredith and Cristina snort in equal parts derision and laughter before Meredith reminds him that, one, Bailey and Zola are camping with Derek tonight and, two, this is Cristina's first visit to Seattle in a long, long time. It's only fitting they celebrate with a shot of tequila or two.

"Zurich has amazing chocolate, but its tequila is—" Cristina adds with a grimace, and Meredith throws Alex a pointed look as though he should have known before refusing to go out to Joe's with them tonight. He shrugs his shoulders reminding them both that they know where the liquor store is. Neither woman has to be told twice; Meredith and Cristina both reaching to snatch Meredith's keys off the counter.

Alex takes another drink from his beer bottle as the reunited Twisted Sisters file out of the house, and he waits for the slam of the glass front door before setting aside his beer and sliding off the stool one more time. He kicks one of the throw pillows left tossed on the floor back onto the gray couch as he makes his way through the living room towards the stairs and then quickly rushes up the stairs before slowing as he makes his way towards the bedroom door left ajar.

He pauses in the doorway of the bedroom when he spots her seated on the bed with her legs crossed and her back to the door intently studying something in her lap. His eyes travel appreciatively down the curve of her body to stare at the patch of skin peeking out from above the waistband of her dark wash jeans, but his head cocks to the side – a grimace twisting his features – when she leans forward to reach for something near the pillows stacked against the wall and her shirt rises up to expose a mess of nasty, red welts doting her spine.

"Hey," he interrupts softly, although she still jumps slightly at the unexpected intrusion. But she turns to glance at him over her shoulder offering him a brilliant smile before dropping her ear to neck in an attempt to scratch her back.

"Hey," she replies sitting aside her flashcards and shifting her position on the bed to look at him. "Did Meredith and Cristina go? I thought I heard the front door slam."

"Yeah," he informs her leaning up against the wall nearest the door frame rather than crossing the room to sit on the king-sized bed beside her. "They weren't interested in beer and decided to go pick up some tequila."

"Ah," she replies with a knowing look, although she's pretty sure he hasn't told her half of the stuff those two – and him, by extension – got into when they opened up a bottle of tequila during their years as surgical residents. She reaches behind her ruthlessly digging her sharp nails into her back through the fabric of her gray t-shirt, and he pushes himself away from the door frame in response bypassing her position on the bed and heading straight for the bedroom.

The medicine cabinet audibly clicks when he opens it and then clicks again when he slams it shut behind him as he stalks back into the bedroom. The bed dips as he takes a seat beside her, and she reaches out to steady the pile of flashcards, notebooks, and medical textbooks arranged around her in order to keep her materials from cascading into a mess on the floor.

"Take your shirt off," he instructs flipping open the dark pink cap of the light pink bottle in his hand and squirting some of the pale pink liquid into the palm of his hand.

"You could at least offer me a shot of tequila or, better yet, a beer," she teases lightly before reaching for the hem of her shirt and tugging it in one swift movement of her head. His silence says more than an audible gasp or words could convey, and she reaches behind once more to scratch at the patch of hives just above the waistband of her jeans. "That bad, huh?"

"California and Hawaii are becoming Republican strongholds," he jokes as he bats her hand away from her back and begins to slowly, gently rub the calamine lotion across the reddest parts of her back. She sighs contently leaning into his ministrations and reaching up to sweep the curly tail of her brunette ponytail out of his way.

"You have nothing to worry about," he reminds her after a long pause where the only sound is of his hand softly gliding across the red, angry skin of her lower back. "You're going to pass your boards. You're already a kick ass surgeon."

"You think so?" She questions in a teasing tone, although he can pick up on the slight hint of uncertainty in her voice. Five years later, she's still a little cagey about compliments and people helping her out but she – they are working on it, and he gently squeezes her side just above her hip before raising his voice to a gruffer, more demanding tone.

"Bra off, Princess."

"Okay, now you really need to buy me a drink," Jo informs him with a laugh before reaching behind her to unclasp her bra with one hand. She catches the black, lacy cups before they fall to her lap holding them against her chest with one arm as she leans forward to flip over the next flashcard in her stack.

"You know you can come downstairs and hang out with Yang, Mer, and I," he reminds her pointedly because he doesn't want her hiding out in their bedroom feeling sidelined, doesn't want another argument when he thought they laid this particular issue to rest years ago.

"I know," she replies confidently as Alex's hand slides towards her right shoulder blade and a portion of hives that, if he squints hard enough, look remarkably like Cape Cod and the islands of Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. He squirts another glob of calamine lotion into his palm and then slathers it across Jo's back where her bra strap has aggravated the outbreak of hives. "But I need to study. If I fail my boards—"

"Shut up," he interrupts sharply, gruffly. "You're not going to fail your boards. You had an awesome teacher who spent way too much time showing you how to do cool surgeries in a bag and how to fix tiny little humans for you to fail."

"Hey," Jo rebukes sliding her arm backwards to elbow him in the stomach – an effort that earns her a gratifying 'oomph' of discomfort from him.

"Don't discount cool surgeries like a labral repair or a vertical expandable prosthetic titanium rib procedure or getting to hammer pins into the tibial plateau," Jo adds with a grin and sigh reminiscent of one that escapes as a sign of infatuation.

He hums noncommittally in response as he slathers the lotion of the few remaining spots on her bare back, and she sighs again in reply because ninety percent of her is hiding out upstairs so she can get in some last minute cramming, five percent so he can have time with his closest friends without the girlfriend tagging along, and the final five percent because she doesn't want to spend the rest of the night getting grilled by Doctor Grey or Doctor Yang on what specialty she's picked for her fellowship – ortho or peds.

The jingle of bells against the bedroom as it pushed open widen enough to allow both Meredith and Cristina to peer in on them causes Jo to push the cups of her bra tighter against her breasts, and Alex's twists around to glare at the Twisted Sisters for their intrusion. Meredith holds up the bottle of tequila in apology as the bells wrapped around the doorknob to announce her late night visits without giving the occupants of the house a heart attack continue to clang against the wooden door.

"Jeez, Hairball, what kind of new STD did Evil Spawn give you?" Cristina asks with an evident look of disgust on her face and even more prominent tone of abhorrence in her voice. She grimaces before stepping forward to get a closer look, but Meredith's hand reaches out to pull her back and Alex's glare keeps her rooted in spot just inside the doorway.

"Haha, very funny," Alex sarcastically replies before snarling sharply for them to get out. And Meredith tugs Cristina out of the room whilst mumbling to her best friend that Alex and Jo have rules about unannounced visitors in their bedroom. He wait until he hears their footsteps on the stairs before turning his attention back to Jo, before wiping the last of the calamine lotion on her back, before helping her adjust the straps of her bra as she hooks the clasps again.

"Sure you don't want to hang out on the couch and drink beer?" Alex asks one more time as he moves to stand up and rejoin his friends downstairs.

"I'm good. I have an unsubsiding erection, remember?" She asks with a teasing smile, and he rolls his eyes in response because he knows better than to be taken aback by that particular off the cuff comment now. "Go get sloppily drunk with your friends so I can take pictures later and use it to blackmail my way into surgeries."

"Stop listening to Callie and trade sex for surgery like everyone else," he replies. Jo laughs in response reminding him that's hard to do when you have a boyfriend and aren't into vaginas.

"All the more reason to pick peds," he replies before pressing his lips to hers in a kiss meant to squash any rebuttal. She leans into the kiss snaking her hands up to cup his face, but he catches her right wrist in his hand and pulls it away from his face as he breaks their kiss. Pressing the bottle of lotion into her open hand, he instructs her to use it before the Republicans conquer all fifty states.

"Dude, seriously, stop freaking out," Alex tells her before stealing another kiss. She breaks the kiss this time pushing him away so she can get back to studying and he can rejoin his friends like they had planned. He lingers for just a moment pressing his forehead against hers and mirroring the smile on her face before pulling away and heading out of the bedroom.

Reaching behind him for the doorknob, he pauses in the door frame and turns to look at her watching him walk away. And the suddenly intense and determined look on his face causes her to sit up straighter, to self-consciously reach towards her discarded t-shirt as she looks at him with an evident question on her face.

"You'll kick the interviewers' pompous asses, come back having passed your boards, and we'll do something – I don't know – to celebrate, okay?"

"Okay," she replies with a smile and a nod of her head, which he returns before he pulls the door shut and leaves her alone with her studying materials and the large, pink bottle of calamine lotion – the clank of bells around the doorknob of their bedroom covering the sound of his footsteps on the stairs or the teasing words of Cristina and Meredith as they offer him a shot of tequila and guesses as to how the celebration of Jo passing her boards will go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you all for the reviews and the supportive messages. It's always nerve-wracking to start writing for a new fandom, and I was completely blown away by the response to this. Seriously, thank you!

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><p>He squints intently at the open cavity looking for bleeders or severed capillaries as possible sources for the unexplained blood seeping in around the damaged spleen. The unhealthy tissue appears pale in contrast to the bright red, oxidized blood, and he mentally adds the organ to the long list of damages that have been inflicted upon his young patient.<p>

The whirl of the saw near the head of the operating table informs him that Torres has added something else to a growing list, and his frown deeps as he leans closer towards the incision in order to concentrate on the surgery at hand. Gingerly shifting the organ aside, he focuses on the tangle of blood vessels slowly sliding his gaze across each one. With an audible sigh of relief, he spots the bleeder and calls for the scrub nurse to hand him a clamp.

"Good job, Karev," Torres replies in a muffled voice through the surgical mask covering much of her face as she shuts off the small, precision saw. He grunts in acknowledgment as he cauterizes the wound pausing only after the flow of blood ceases to glance up at the damage Torres is attending to.

"I'm gonna need to remove the spleen," Alex informs her with a grimace catching the obvious sadness in Torres' eyes. "Her risk of infection during post-op is—"

"Her x-rays showed multiple fractions. She's a fighter," Torres retorts glancing up at the patient's face. The little girl's strawberry blonde hair is held together in a poor excuse for a braid that peaks out from under the blue, gauzy surgical cap, and the deep and extensive bruising on her face causes both surgeons to blanch at the sight.

"I'm glad Wilson wasn't here to see this," the female doctor interjects after a long pause. And then with a chuckle, with a slightly inappropriate wistful smile, she contradicts her previous statement adding that if the fifth-year resident had been here, they probably would have three patients to attend to – the little girl and her foster parents.

Although Callie cannot see anything behind the surgical mask covering his mouth, Karev's slight smile at the suggestion is slowly replaced with a deep frown as he remembers just how violent Jo can become with abusers and shitty parents. The last thing he wants is for her to wind up in jail on the day she's supposed to be taking her boards, and he turns his attention back to the damaged spleen in order to clear his mind of the suggestion.

"No word on her boards, huh?" Torres questions misinterpreting his silence on Wilson's willingness to kick ass as a shift in his focus onto the topic currently fueling the hospital rumor mill.

Ross, who had flown back to the States specifically for the examination while his mentor visited her person in Seattle, had texted Yang almost three hours ago informing her that he had passed. The news had shocked them all as no one had expected to hear so early yet slowly but surely the news had begun to trickle in about which the surgical residents had passed – first, Ross then Björn, Elizondo, and Yu.

The only three residents who have yet to text with their results are Edwards, Warren, and Wilson, and the hospital is awash with rumors that one or two or all three of them failed. Or, Callie's personal favorites, that the two female residents have proclaimed their love for one another and headed south to Tijuana for tequila and unbridled passion. She cannot help the laughter that escapes as she absentmindedly blurts out the suggestion only stopping when she feels the heat of Alex's hostile stare.

"Please, your girlfriend is not into vaginas. If she was, she sure as hell wouldn't be putting up with your crap," Torres replies with a roll of her eyes before glancing up at the clock mounted on the wall. "Besides—oh."

The tone in her voice causes Alex to shift his gaze away from the surgery at hand to glance at the clock, and he swallows uncomfortably when he notices the little hand of the clock dipping dangerously close to the nine. Her flight should land in five minutes or so, and Webber is likely making the rounds reminding the attendings on call to meet in the ambulance bay at half-past nine.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Torres says dismissively as she turns back to the three inch opening along the patient's left shoulder. She squints at the end of clavicle mentally measuring the inches in order to assure that enough of the bone has been removed before moving on to the underside of the acromion. "You know, 'W' comes after 'R' and—"

"What alphabet did you learn where 'W' comes before 'E' but after 'Y'?" Alex questions with a smirk and a pointed look. Torres stands up straight, glares at him over the top of her surgical mask, and turns on the small saw effectively cutting off his correction of her mistake.

Alex smirks behind his mask as he dips his head down to concentrate on removing the spleen. He quickly makes the necessary incisions with his scalpel straining to listen to the heart monitoring over the sound of Torres' incisions. The machine maintains a steady beep throughout the procedure, and he methodically checks the surrounding blood vessels and capillaries for residual bleeders while Torres works on carefully slicing through bone one more time.

The small, precision saw is dropped onto the tray of sterile surgical instruments with a loud clatter, but his concentration remains unbroken as he nearly finishes sewing up the incision until Torres calls out his name asking for assistance on stabilizing the rotator cuff. He glances up and around the room searching for an intern to sub in his place and sliding his gaze up a little bit higher to spy the big hand of the clock resting right smack dab between the two and the three.

And Alex audibly curses at the lack of interns on hands and the new rule limiting their work week to barely more than half the hours he put in when he was a surgical intern as he finishes his final stitch, as he sets the surgical instruments aside and proceed to round the patient's head to help Torres finish her own surgery.

"At least, 'K' comes before 'W'," Torres informs him in place of an apology for detaining him or a thanks for his assistance as he moves to help patch together the fragmented pieces of the young patient's shoulder. His eyebrows pitch upwards in surprise, and Torres shoots him a knowing look over the rim of her surgical mask as she ducks her head to investigate the damage.

"Yang's a freakin' liar," Alex informs her in an exasperated tone, and Torres snorts in response because she always thought he, at least, had the better rejoinders of the pair.

"Webber let it slip to Robbins," Torres informs him. "I think Grey told him to tell her since she's out tonight because she wanted to make sure you'd be able to get down to the ambulance bay and—"

She trails off uncomfortably with a grimace because there's no way he can casually meet the bus bringing the fifth-year residents back from the airport now. And her grimace lifts into a smile when she listens to his lame assertions that he was not going to propose tonight, that this hospital is filled with death and liars and gossips who have no idea what they're talking about.

"So I guess if you're proposing, that means Wilson's not going to Boston?" Callie interjects over his mutterings about how Grey and Yang are both dead. The question silences him immediately because that's the logical conclusion, because that's the million dollar question that has prevented him from asking the other million dollar question. "Cause Wilson is badass. She was made for ortho. And New England Bap—"

The tap at the glass causes both of them to glance up at the observation room, and they each toss the other a pointed glance with the hope that the brunette woman looking down at them missed the entirety of their conversation. Both of them strain to read the expression on her face; both of them grin widely behind their surgical masks when the woman in the sleeveless purple dress drops her unreadable expression and begins bouncing and screaming with excitement.

The silent screams answer their question as to how much she heard, and their words of congratulations are muffled instead by laughter over how she clearly forgot to switch on the intercom before making her announcement. Their laughter is magnified as they watch her dance around the observation room, and Alex nearly misses Callie's dismissive words that he can go and she'll finish up here as he watches the ridiculous spectacle.

"Karev, I expect to see her and the ring at the celebration at Joe's tonight," Torres calls after his returning form as he steps through the automatic doors separating the operating room from the sinks. "Don't make me pull a Meredith and show up uninvited at your house."

He rips off his gloves and gown tossing them both into the hazardous waste bin to the left of the scrub sinks before pushing open the door leading to the hallway. He nearly collides with Bailey and Warren – the married couple clearly about to engage in their own celebration in the nearest on-call room – as he rounds the corner heading towards the staircase leading to the observation room. He nearly collides with Wilson as she dances and loudly celebrates her victory on her way out of the stairwell towards the operating room.

And she barely has time to form the 'I' at the beginning of her now often repeated statement before his hand slides around her waist, before he pulls her towards him and presses his lips against her parted mouth. Her arms immediately slide around his neck as she leans into his embrace; her right hand immediately cups the back of his head as she meets his lips with her own.

"Told you," he tells her punctuating each syllable with another kiss.

"Shut up," she replies brusquely as she moves to her tiptoes and tries to deepen the kiss. And just when he's about to give in, just when she's spun him around and pressed him against the wall of the hallway, she breaks the kiss and marvels aloud, "I passed."

He dips his head to kiss her again, moves to press his lips to the skin of her jaw and finally whisper his congratulations when the palpable excitement on her face seems to dim slightly. His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he searches for the worst case scenario in this best possible outcome – Edwards failing being the only thing that springs to mind – and he nudges her gently with his elbow to get her to fess up.

"Grey Sloan, obviously, already knows," she says referencing the pediatric surgical fellowship she was offered contingent on her passing the boards. "But I need to call New England Baptist, and they're probably going to want to know—"

"Jo!"

The interjection of her name interrupts their conversation, and both Alex and Jo turn to look at Stephanie with rather unfriendly expressions. The wide, excited grin on the resident's face falters in response, and she awkwardly shifts her bag on her shoulder as she gestures to the other three residents who passed their boards gathered around her.

"Uh, we're going to go to Joe's and celebrate with some of the attendings," Stephanie reminds her before offering her a pointed look. "And, dammit, Jo, you promised you wouldn't ditch me for your boyfriend tonight."

"Uh," Jo stutters out looking from her fellow residents to the attending she currently has pressed up against the wall.

"Go and celebrate," Alex tells her as he releases his grip from around her waist and gestures to his dark blue scrubs. "I need to go clean up, and then I'll be there, okay?"

"Okay," she replies, although the look in her eyes hints to more cautiousness than the tone of her voice conveys. She presses her lips to his one last time, offers him a wide grin when she breaks the kiss and informs him once again that she passed, and then hurries off to join the last remaining member of her class in a celebration of their victory.

Pushing himself away from the wall, Alex reaches up to pull the scrub hat off his head and balls it in his fist. He can still hear Jo and the rest of the fifth-year residents excitedly announcing they passed to every nurse, doctor, and orderly they meet as he makes his way down the empty hallway towards the attendings lounge. Their excited voices are only silenced after one of the nurses yells at them for interrupting patients in recovery, but the noise is replaced by the excited murmurings of the attendings – Kepner, Webber, Robbins – walking out of the lounge in a clumped, tittering mass.

"You comin', Karev?" Robbins calls after him as he slips past her through the open door of the lounge. Alex grumbles something about needing to change, about catching up with them later earning him a weary and inquisitive look from the blonde, neonatal surgical attending.

Robbins waves the other two attendings ahead of her reminding them to make sure they grab Hunt on their way out of the hospital. Intently following her mentee into the lounge, she slams the door behind her in order to offer them a modicum of privacy.

"Wilson didn't say no, did she?" Robbins asks him as he stands with her back towards her yanking open his gym bag in search of a change of clothes so he can get out of his dark blue scrubs. He shoots her a disgruntled look over his shoulder and states in a rather exasperated voice that, despite the rumors, he had no plans to propose today. "Because you're worried about Boston?"

"No," he snaps forcefully as he tugs the blue scrub top over his head. He snatches the grey t-shirt out of his bag, slides his arms through the sleeves, and pulls it on in one swift, easy movement.

"Because sometimes distance is good," Robbins asserts. "It helps put things into perspective. I went to Africa and all I could think about Callie so maybe Wilson will go to Boston and realize—"

"You and Torres got divorced," he reminds her looking over his shoulder at her, and the blonde woman narrows her eyes at him in an unspoken reminder of just how much of an ass he can be. With a sigh, Alex relaxes his defensive posture and meets Robbins' rapidly softening gaze.

"Look, Jo worked way too hard to become a surgeon for me to tell her not to go to Boston. I love her. I'm not gonna do that to her. So, tonight, we're going to Joe's and celebrating her passing her boards. That's it. Got it?"

For a moment, it appears that Robbins might be willing to go along with his plan for the evening, but her eyebrows knit in concern and suddenly Robbins is pestering him with questions about whether or not his refusal to tell Wilson not to go to Boston means he's considering leaving Seattle and following her across the country.

And Alex groans at the realization that she's not going to drop this topic, pulls a pair of jeans from his bag, heads towards the bathroom on the other side of the room, and abruptly ends the conversation with a slam of the door. He kicks off his sneakers and tugs at the drawstring of his pants as Robbins continues to talk to him through the door, but she gives up right around the time he finishes pulling on his jeans and he exits the bathroom to find the lounge devoid of people who could pester him about proposals or job offers.

He tosses his sneakers back into his bag and slides his feet into the nicer shoes he wore into work this morning. And then with one last furtive glance over his shoulder, he reaches into the hidden, inner pocket of his bag and pulls out a small, velvet box. Flipping open the lid with one hand, Alex's eyes skim appraisingly over the square diamond in the middle and the diamond incrusted band nestled in the box.

Alex quickly clicks the box closed when the wooden door of the attendings lounge swings open – the slated blinds slamming wildly against the glass –and he shoves the box into the far reaches of his bag as Doctor Hunt steps into the room. He swings the strap of the bag over his shoulder and grabs his jacket off the hook in a silent reply to Owen's question as to whether or not he's coming to Joe's tonigh, and the pair step out into the silent hallway together making their way towards the elevator bank.

And as doors of the elevator slide open, as the two step into the empty elevator and he pushes the button for the ground floor of the hospital, Owen turns to look at him with an evident question on his face. Alex opens his mouth to reiterate once again that he has no plans to propose tonight only to shut it and scowl instead when he hears the actual question on Owen's mind.

"So any idea if Wilson is going to accept the fellowship here or take the one in Boston? The, uh, board needs to know."


	3. Chapter 3

In their haste last night, neither one of them remembered to pull the curtains or close the blinds so the rising sun streams in through the window casting a bright, yellowy orange line across the clothes scattered across the floor, the comforter rumpled at the foot of the bed, and the arm slung across her upper body. She lazily, contently strokes her fingers across his forearm and smiles softly when his fingers twitch against her bare breast in response.

The reflex gives away his semi-awake state despite his deep, even breathing, and her smile widens as he nuzzles his face into her long and likely ratted brown hair with a contented sigh. Even after all these years, it is still a struggle to adjust to the alternations from day shift to night shift – or, in her case from late night study sessions to early morning examinations. Harder still to fight the zing of excitement coursing through her body over the fact that today is her first day as a board certified surgeon.

Jo squirms a bit against his embrace at the thought fighting the urge to roll over and remind him that she passed. Again. They had done plenty of celebrating last night: drinks at Joe's with Stephanie and the other attendings, frantic kisses and even more frantic removal of each other's clothes as they made their way to the bedroom, whispered congratulations as he left a trail of kiss down her stomach, and complete and utter refusal to address the question of where she'll finish up her education as her eyes rolled in the back of her head and her mouth fell open.

"Sleep," Alex groggily, gruffly commands as he loops his left leg over her right and palms her breast pulling her tighter into his embrace. Her smile widens at the sleepy tone of his voice; he sounds almost on the verge of suffering from that awful hollow, jangly feeling because, as he confessed to her during another bout of hollow jangles, he doesn't sleep well when it's his bed rather than their bed.

"I'm hungry," Jo whines rolling her head against her pillow just enough so she can make out the outline of his face in her peripheral vision. He grunts his displeasure mumbling something about having had enough to eat at three o'clock this morning, and his impertinence is rewarded with a jab of her elbow. Alex pretends to be deeply wounded by the jab releasing her from his embrace as he slides his hand back to protect his stomach, and she seizes on the opportunity to roll over in bed and face him.

"Oh, you big baby," she scoffs in laughter before placing a gentle kiss against his cheek. "Does the board certified surgeon need to take a look?"

"Too early for doctoring," he mumbles clamping his eyes shut tighter as the shift in her position allows the sunlight to hit him directly in the face.

"Too early for morning sex?" She questions as she presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth. And Jo lets out a cross between a squeal and a laugh as his hand immediately slides to cup her naked ass, as his eyelids fly open and he tries to angle his mouth to capture her lips with his own.

The sound escaping her lips becomes louder as he expertly and unexpectantly rolls onto his back pulling her on top of him so her legs straddle his and her naked chest is pressed up against his. And the sheet becomes a tangled mess around their limbs as he rolls them one more time so her bare back is pressed into the mattress and her hair is splayed out across his pillow.

Alex plants his hands against the mattress on each side of her face holding his weight off of her as he leans down to press his lips against hers. One kiss against her left cheek and then a trail of them as he slowly, torturously makes his way towards her lips, and Jo reaches up to loop her arms around his neck and hold him closer to her in response.

He had been so distant at Joe's last night, although the stolen kisses against her the line of her jaw and the mad dash home might have convinced some people otherwise. But she knows him. Knows how well he can dance around the elephant in the room; knows how the tightening of his jaw and the biting remarks directed at their friends and colleagues last night had been a classic Alex reaction to the fear of the unknown.

She runs her hands down his back slightly raking her nails against his skin as he moves to kiss and nip at the skin of her neck. And then because she can give just as good as she gets, she manages to hook her left leg around his and flip them so his back is pressed against the mattress instead of hers. He lands with an oomph of surprise, but his hands immediately go to her waist to steady her and he grins as she moves to interlace his fingers with hers and leans down to press her lips against his one more time.

"Doughnuts," she whispers as she hovers over him with her lips just inches from his and eyes that sparkle. The grin falls from his face as she pulls herself away, as she swigs her legs over the side of the bed and clutches the sheet to her naked body.

He groans as she bends down to retrieve the clothes they abandoned on the floor last night and stares incredulously at her as she tosses his jeans to him with the announcement that he's in charge of the coffee. And with a wicked, fake innocent glance over her shoulder, she allows the sheet to fall to the ground exposing bare back and ass before stepping into the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her.

After fishing the lacy, purple bra from the pile of last night's clothes she unceremoniously dumps on the bathroom floor, Jo slides her arms through the straps and reaches to hook the clasp at the front as she makes her way to the sink. Running her fingers through her hand, she curses both her failure to think her choice of clothing through – no way is going to squeeze back into her purple dress for a run down to Top Pot – and the tangle of mats from last night's rather vigorous exercise. Her brush and comb are in the suitcase she left out in Alex's car overnight so she does the best she can at pulling her long hair into a messy, high ponytail with only her fingers.

Realizing her toothbrush is also outside, she lets out a soft sigh as she bends down to grab Alex's t-shirt out of the pile. The gray t-shirt practically swallows her slender frame, although it barely skims against the bottom of her ass and, therefore, fails to completely hide the fact that she isn't wearing underwear.

With a smirk, she yanks open the bathroom door expecting to hear a torturous groan at her entrance. With an exasperated sigh, she trudges across the room towards the dresser at the sight of Alex still curled up in bed. His jeans have been tossed back onto the floor; the comforter has been pulled up over his head to block out the sunlight streaming in. She doesn't exactly tiptoe around their bedroom, but she's kind enough not to slam the drawers of the dresser as she grabs a pair of panties, jeans, and socks and even more careful to stay out of his reach as she rounds the bed towards the door after pulling all three articles of clothes on.

The bells hanging from the doorknob of their bedroom door jingle and jangle against the wood as she yanks open the door, and she's thankful for the inanimate object taking on the role of nag in their relationship. She doesn't need to be seen as the shrill one, the nagging one on today of all days.

The sound smothers both his groan of displeasure as he no doubt presses his face into the mattress and the sound of her stocking feet hitting the wooden stairs. Sweeping through the house, she snatches his keys off the floor in the entry way where they fell after he missed the side table and her jacket off the armchair in the living room pausing only to jam her feet into the pair of blue sneakers she left by the utility sink the laundry room a few nights ago.

She knows he will mock her ruthlessly for where she's about to go – although, she will be the first one to admit that "artisanal doughnuts" sounds ridiculous – but she needs him to call her 'princess' today. To engage in a little banter before she rocks the boat and, worst case scenario, ends up crying what are undoubtedly real tears.

Squaring her shoulders with determination, with grit that's gotten her through four years of making bad calls and never giving up on him and loving that jerk even when he cannot love himself, she turns onto the busy road leading out of the Queen Anne neighborhood and towards the nearest Top Pot Doughnuts shop.

The mid-morning traffic moves quickly – rush hour, thankfully, ended half an hour ago – leaving Jo with little time to dwell on her thoughts before she has to concentrate on finding a parking spot. A light, misty rain begins to fall by the time she reaches the front door of the doughnut shop, and there is barely enough room at the end of the line for her to stand inside the establishment rather than out in the rain.

There is always a line at Top Pot – dads and their rambunctious kids on the weekends, office workers wearing relaxed slacks and sandals on weekdays – and Jo cranes her neck around to crowd trying to determine if the shop still has powered doughnuts in stock.

She fishes for a twenty dollar bill out of Alex's wallet when she spots one of the workers carrying a tray of freshly made, powered doughnuts to the display case at the front of the store from the kitchen in the back. Her stomach growls at the sight; her mind waffles between buying six or an even dozen.

"Hey."

The voice startles her breaking her concentration and snapping her attention back to the people standing in line in front of her. She had reflexively taken a step forwarded assuming the person was trying to tell her that the line had moved, and she ends up awkwardly bumping into the office worker in front of her whose coworkers are clearly pretending not to watch their interaction.

"I've never been here before. Any suggestion on what's good?"

"Well, their seasonal doughnuts are good," she draws out in contemplation. "I also like their jelly ones, but my boyfriend prefers the powdered doughnuts."

"Oh, uh, thanks," the nondescript office worker replies as he turns back to his coworkers. The man at the counter asking for their orders masks his buddies' snickers and pronouncements that, of course, someone that hot has a boyfriend.

Jo shifts her weight from one foot to the other as she waits for them to wrap up their orders watching each of them to make sure they don't cart off all the powdered doughnuts, but she manages to snag the remaining half dozen slipping the cashier the twenty in her hand before slipping back out the door. The rain is coming down in droves now – an unusual occurrence for the Emerald City – and she makes the mad dash to the car clutching the box of doughnuts to her chest and feeling the water seep into her shoes.

Her hand sneaks into the doughnut box as she pulls out of her parking spot, and she lets out a groan of delight as she pulls up to the stoplight and bites into the doughnut. Powdered sugar clings to the corners of her lips, and she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth brushing the mess onto the hem of her jacket and the front of Alex's t-shirt.

Jo's fingers are coated in white powder as she pulls into the driveway of the house, and the four remaining doughnuts rattle around the box as she jogs up the steps to the front door. The white residue clings to the doorknob of the front door, and her wet shoes leave a small mark on the wood as she slams it shut – glass rattling – with her foot behind her. Jo half-expects to find Alex still asleep upstairs so she's pleasantly surprised when she finds him seated on the gray couch with his bare feet propped up on the wooden coffee table taking a drink from a cracked, red mug.

"Coffee?" She questions as she dumps the box onto his lap and begins kicking off her shoes. He passes his mug of coffee to her, reaches up to cup her ass under the guise of helping to stabilize her as she steps over his extended legs, and then flips open the lid as she takes a seat on the couch beside him.

"Top Pot," Alex mumbles as soon as he spies the distinct contents of the box, and he tosses her a pointed, teasingly exasperated look. "Artisanal doughnuts fit for a princess."

"Shut up, we're celebrating," Jo hushes as she shifts her body so her back is against the arm of the couch before taking a long sip from the mug. "And that's board certified Doctor Princess to you."

He mumbles something unintelligible as he takes a large bite out of a doughnut – powdered sugar clinging to his lips and spraying across the box in his lap – and she moves to tuck her feet in the gap between his leg and the cushion of the couch as she takes another sip of coffee and tries to psych herself up to speak. She's been racking her brain since the offers came in on how to bring this question – Boston or Seattle – up. She's freaked out, pushed it aside, and reasoned through exactly what she should say and—

"Marry me."

The words startle even her because they are not the ones she planned to say, although she did bat them around for the hour and a half she spent waiting at the airport for her flight back to Seattle. And Jo looks up with wide eyes to see Alex frozen mid-bite into another powdered sugar doughnut with a gaze that hasn't shifted to meet hers.

Suddenly, the room feels small and the air feels repressive and she has no idea what to say now because for some reason the words feel right. The love contract they signed was scary and stupid and she knows he promised that she can't count on him, but she knows that's not entirely true – he's gone nowhere but home with her for the past four years – and, more importantly, she wants him to count on her.

And she's trying to figure out a way to tell him all of this when he drops the half-eaten doughnut back into the box, pushes the box onto the couch beside her, and moves to stand. Her eyes prick with tears – the real ones, not the fake kind she employs to weasel her way into surgery – and she watches in half shock and half dread as he disappears into the foyer of the house.

"Alex!" Her voice wavers as she calls after him despite all the force and command she tries to inject into it, and her feet slide from the couch to the floor in preparation for her to follow after him when he returns distractedly rooting through his gym bag. "Alex, we have to talk ab—"

The words die on her lips as he yanks his hand out of the bag letting it fall to the floor with a thud and a triumphant look on his face. He still refuses to make eye contact with her as he returns to his seat on the couch, as he plunks the black, velvet box on the coffee table in front of her. Fight or flight begins to sink in with the realization that this is the kind of box an engagement ring is kept in yet Jo finds herself leaning towards it rather than away from it.

"How long have you had this?" She asks cautiously. Her concentration on the newly produced box barely breaks; her gaze shifts just long enough to see him shrug before snapping right back to the still unopened box.

"Awhile," he replies, and her mind races to quantify a while. She's good at math; she likes numbers. And the unmeasurable unit of time that 'awhile' encompasses makes the still healing hives on her back begin to itch again. Yet Jo is still leaning forward, still reaching towards the box, still yearning to see what exactly is inside.

Her fingers have barely brushed against the velvet before Alex's hand moves to block her, before he's clutching her hand and dragging her attention back to the man she just proposed to from the object he was going to use to do the same. Even after all these years, she struggles to read the expression on his face – a shred of fear, a glimpse of excitement, a whole lot of determination, and something else she cannot place.

"I've wanted to marry you for years, Jo, but we can't get married just because you're afraid to make a decision."

The words catch her off guard, but they finally clue her into the final emotion hidden deep within his gaze from those who take the asshole façade at face value: fear. And she tries to find the right words to allay this emotion because she's not good with grand speeches about love like he is – the moment at the barn that turned out to be a proposal, the moment at the bar that convinced her to sign the paper, the moment in front of the hospital that allayed her fears about not having a home or a bed.

"I love you," Jo promises softly. The words are weak compared to what he's said to her in the past, but she so rarely says them that he knows she means them, that he rewards her with a wide grin and a promise that he loves her, too.

"Which is why you need to decide. You want to go to Boston? Fine. Meredith and Derek made long distance work for two years. We can do one. You want to stay in Seattle and work in peds? Fine. We'll use fake tears on the new Chief of Surgery to scam our way into surgeries. But this is your career, Jo. Don't ask me to be the one who messes it up."

"Thanks," she sarcastically replies in response to his jab that she'll mess up her career. A long, pregnant pause fills the room as he watches her waiting for her reply, as she gathers up the courage to be honest with them both. "I want to go to Boston."

The announcement causes his lips to twitch downward for just a moment; a subtle movement that only those who know him as well as either she or Meredith do would ever catch. And she tries to swallow back the anxiety over his response as he breaks out into a smile, as she scratches her newly itching hives against the arm of the couch as she holds up a hand to interrupt his pronouncement that she should call New England Baptist and let them know.

"But, Alex, I want to marry you, too," she adds forcefully before the tears in the corner of her eyes begin to cloud her vision and her voice cracks with the slightest bit of hesitation. "We'll be together forever, right?"

And rather than verbally answer her, he releases his grip on her hand and reaches instead towards the black, velvet box sitting on the coffee table. Picking it up, he places it in her open palm and allows his actions to be his answer. And through tear filled eyes, she offers him an incredulously look in reply.

"A proposal usually involves a question," Jo pointedly informs him.

"Yours didn't," he reminds her with a smirk and shrug reaching to crack open the box and allow the square diamond set on a diamond incrusted band to distract her attention. "Goes well with that fancy watch of yours, Princess."


End file.
